Alia Patwardhan of Maharashtra

Female Ejaculation

“Oops, oh man, I’m so sorry,” Alia Patwardhan said sheepishly, looking at the tall young Black man standing at a corner of the elevator began sniffing the air. That’s when his lip curled in distaste, and his eyes widened in surprise. For a certain tall, Hijab-wearing young Indian Muslim woman just let loose a thunderously loud fart, less than a meter from him. In that moment, if Alia could have found a hole to crawl into a disappear, she would have done so right then and there…

“Um, no worries, we all have those moments, ma’am, it’s okay,” the young man said, and he busied himself looking at his Ottawa Metro newspaper, apparently finding something very interesting in the second page. Alia took that as her cue to shut up, and remained silent during the sixty seconds it took the elevator to go from the first floor of the University Center Building to the Atrium on the fourth floor.

“Good day,” the young Black man said curtly, and he walked through the crowded Atrium, headed for the Tory Building. Alia Patwardhan watched him go and shook her head, both at the comical situation and her lousy luck. Ever since Alia moved to the City of Ottawa, Ontario, from her hometown of Sangli, in the Maharashtra region of Western India, she couldn’t seem to do anything right. And now, thanks to those damn cheese sandwiches at Tim Horton’s, Alia just had the most embarrassing moment of her life.

“Damn this place and those foreign foods,” Alia said to herself, sighing as she headed to the ladies room located right next to the Rooster’s Café. It wasn’t her fault that the Tim Horton’s menu included so much pork, with their sausages and bacon, that no true Muslim would dare order a meat sandwich there. Alia had grown to like Tim Horton’s food, however, and always ordered a cheese sandwich, sans meat, along with her overly sugared coffee and hash browns. Today, though, her preferences backfired spectacularly…

As Alia readjusted the pins in her Hijab, she looked in the washroom mirror. A tall, brown-skinned and rather chubby young woman looked back at her. At five-foot-ten, Alia stood taller than most of the other girls in metropolitan Sangli. Her fondness for sweetmeats also meant that she was bigger than a lot of them, too. Nothing she could do about it. I take life as it comes and accept myself, Alia thought, smiling at her reflection.

In the City of Ottawa, though, Alia had seen a lot of women far taller than herself, as well as men who were quite shorter. The Canadian capital had begun to fascinate her with its strange and unique ways. Men and women of all hues and backgrounds called the Capital of Canada their home, and Alia found it so different from her birthplace. Ottawa is like a new world, Alia thought, on her very first day in the Capital.

In the City of Sangli, Western India, everyone knew what everyone was. The Hindus made up seventy one percent of the town population, and the Muslims were a steady ( and climbing ) twenty one percent. Buddhists, Christians and Sikhs made up the remainder of the population. The different religious and ethnic groups were polite but distant in their dealings with one another, interfaith and intercultural marriages were rare, and that suited just about everyone in modern India.

The Muslims were friendly enough to other cultural and religious groups in the City of Sangli, and largely kept to themselves. Alia grew up hearing her family members trade laughs about the Hindu majority and their sacred cows, which they considered to be superstitious rubbish, and they were oddly respectful toward the Sikhs, whose life philosophy sort of made sense.

In the City of Ottawa, Ontario, Alia had seen a lot of strangeness. The locals weren’t as friendly as they first appeared. Around here, people would smile to your face and say negative things behind your back. Sometimes they were quite tolerant and friendly, and other times they were quite vocal in their dislike of those who were different from themselves. Alia recalled the way an old White lady looked at her as she walked around the Billings Bridge Mall, and inquired about the ladies room. The old woman gave Alia a look of sheer disgust.

“If you can’t read the signs, you ought to go back to your country,” the old White lady said, and even though Alia was new to Ottawa, the raw hatred she saw in the lady’s frosty blue eyes cut her to her core. As Alia stood there, trying to think of a comeback, the old lady rejoined her husband who stood at the foot of the steps and they made their way onto the bridge separating the shopping center from the nearby OC Transpo bus station.

“This country isn’t what I expected,” Alia said to herself as she finally walked out of the Atrium washroom, and headed for the Mac Odrum Library. Once there, she made her way to her favorite computer terminal, sat down and logged on. The first thing the young woman did was to check out her Facebook, where she had about twenty seven friends. Most of them were either new classmates büyük meme porno and a few people from back home in India. Alia wasn’t exactly the outgoing type, and as far as she was concerned, this was a good thing.

When noon hit, Alia paused her computer, and took a look around the campus library. She didn’t have time to rush back to the prayer space located inside the University Center Building. Rushing to the ladies room, she went in and cleansed her hands and feet, as well as her face, with cold water. Afterwards, she dried her hands and exited the ladies room. Returning to the computer area, she saw that there was no one seated in her row. Satisfied, Alia took off her shoes, and began her prayer.

Standing with her hands folded before herself, her eyes closed, Alia intoned the prayer that her father, Imam Mohammed Patwardhan had taught her back at the family house, located near the Masjid in Sangli. Bowing low before the Maker of All Things, Alia then pressed her forehead to the floor, in a gesture of supplication. After a few minutes, Alia concluded her prayer, and returned to her seat. A few White students seated at nearby computers looked at her, and Alia flashed them her warmest smile. This had the effect of making them look away, just like Alia knew it would.

“Excuse me, is this computer taken?” came a voice, and Alia looked up, and gasped. For before her stood a tall, handsome and well-dressed young Black man who looked disturbingly familiar. Alia almost cried out when she recognized the guy from the elevator, the one in front of whom she tooted quite loudly. The guy looked at her, a deadpan expression on his face, and Alia realized that he expected an answer from her.

“Um, no, go ahead,” Alia said, and she swiftly removed her backpack from the computer next to hers, something she often did to discourage people from sitting next to her. The young Black man nodded thankfully and sat down, and immediately logged on. Alia watched as he went straight to YouTube, but instead of looking at movies, or sexy dancing girls, the dude watched some kind of documentary.

“Say, do you know if they sell headphones at the campus bookstore? It seems that I’ve forgotten mine,” the young man said, seemingly oblivious to Alia’s observation of him. Alia didn’t reply and instead fumbled around in her purse, and pulled out an old headphone. She’d bought three from the Dollar Store the other day because she kept losing the old ones on the bus or the train.

“Here you go, brother, you can use these ones,” Alia said, and the young Black man nodded thankfully. He plugged the headphones into the computer and turned up the volume. Alia watched as he hit the full screen feature, and the video he was watching filled the entire screen. Testimony from the Indians of Uganda, read the title of the video, as it began to play.

“Thank you very much, ma’am, I’m Malik Zithulele,” the young Black man paused to say, and he smiled at Alia, flashing pearly White teeth. The young woman smiled in turn, and nodded, then started to steeple her fingers. In Ottawa, Alia noticed that a lot of people were very ‘touchy’ and she didn’t like to touch unrelated members of the opposite sex, so this was her way of warding off against that…

“Pleased to meet you, Malik, I’m Alia, I’m originally from India, where are you from?” Alia asked with a smile, and Malik Zithulele paused the video and took off his headphones, giving her his undivided attention. This one is not like the others, Alia thought. In her short time in Canada, she noticed that they often tried to multitask while having a conversation with a friend, a family member or even a stranger. Such behavior would be considered supremely rude in India, but in Canada it was okay…

“Salaam, Sister Alia, I’m from South Africa, the Zulu people of the Western Cape, if you want to be really specific,” Malik said proudly, and he pulled a chain from under his high-collared starched shirt, which displayed the South African flag. Alia smiled, pleased by the young man’s friendly demeanor and evident pride in his nation of origin. Too often she’d met a lot of minorities in Canada who were eager to sacrifice or at least downplay their origins in order to blend in…

“Cool, I’m here as an international student to study Biomedical Engineering, how about yourself, Brother Malik?” Alia asked, and Malik surprised the hell out of her when he told her that he was also in the same major. Talk about coincidences, the young woman thought, amazed. She looked at Malik, finding it rather strange that his first name was Arabic, rather than something traditionally African. As if reading her mind, Malik brought it up…

“Nice to meet a fellow engineering nerd, and a fellow Muslim, Sister Alia, I’m a transfer from University of Johannesburg, I’m new to the Islamic faith, I converted a few years ago,” Malik said, flashing a fearless smile, and Alia grinned, and looked him up and down. The çinli porno brother was good-looking, well-dressed and well-spoken, and a new Muslim. Oh, and he’s also into engineering. Why couldn’t he be from India? Alia thought with a sigh.

“Wallahi, this is awesome, do you have a Facebook? If so, let me add you, us international students have to stick together,” Alia said, grinning, and Malik stroked his goateed chin thoughtfully, then smiled and nodded. Opening up a second page on the computer, after minimizing the first one, Malik pulled up his Facebook page, and Alia watched in amazement as he wrote her family name in the search engine, typing it correctly, and then pulled up her profile.

“Here you are, Sister Alia, nice pic,” Malik said, and Alia grimaced, for her Facebook profile picture was one where she was wearing the Ottawa RedBlacks cowboy hat given to her by her roommate Abby, a skinny, blonde-haired White chick from South Keys. Alia felt awkward about wearing the cowboy hat on top of her Hijab, but Abby insisted that she looked cool in it. Apparently, Malik agreed.

“Shukran, thank you brother, now send me a request,” Alia said, and Malik smiled and did just that. On her computer, Alia saw the friend request and promptly added him. Malik nodded at her, then resumed watching his documentary. Alia took this as her cue to get on with her own stuff. While looking at her assignments on CU Learn, Alia discretely checked out Malik’s profile.

“What do we have here?” Alia thought to herself, as she browsed through Malik’s Facebook profile. The South African brother had a lot of pictures. Shots of him standing next to an older Black couple which she assumed were his parents. Shots of him playing rugby with friends. And finally, shots of him holding hands with a curvy, short-haired young South Asian woman. That last one caused Alia’s heart to skip a beat. Malik and Amrita at University of Johannesburg, read the caption underneath the picture.

Malik watched the video, and discretely checked out Alia while she was busy staring at her own computer screen. Tall, hefty and big-bottomed South Asian woman with rapturous brown skin, just the way I like them, the young South African thought with a wry smile. He thought about asking for Alia’s number, then remembered that a lot of South Asian cuties were initially reserved in their dealings with men, especially foreign men. Guess I’ll have to wear her down, Malik thought.

“It was good to meet you, Sister Alia, it was nice to meet you, I’ve got to get my next class,” Malik said as he rose and grabbed his backpack. Alia looked at him and smiled, not knowing what to say. Malik smiled at her and nodded gently, and then left. Alia watched him go and smiled. The brother has a nice ass, Alia thought. She was still smiling when Malik turned around and stopped, and flashed her a wink. And then he disappeared from view. Oh my, Alia thought, quietly astonished.

Over the next few days, Alia didn’t see or hear from Malik, but she knew he was around. Friday, she and the other Muslim sisters went to the prayer organized at the gym, she made sure she arrived early. It paid off for, sure enough, there was Malik, seated at a table by the vending machines, engaged in animated discussion with two tall, slim Somali guys and a chubby, bearded Arab dude. Without thinking, Alia went straight to him.

“As Salam Alaikum, stranger, remember me?” Alia asked, hands on her hips, and Malik’s face lit up when he saw her. The brother nodded respectfully and smiled at her. Alia looked right at Malik, who seemed not to be the least bit uncomfortable, even though she clearly interrupted his discussion. The other guys looked at Alia, then at Malik. Everyone was waiting on his answer. Like a king, Alia remembered thinking.

“Walaikum Salaam, good to see you again, Sister Alia, how have you been?” Malik said, and then he excused himself and went to speak with Alia. Grinning, Alia playfully slapped his shoulder, even though this was only her second meeting with him and she was usually touch-me-not in her dealings with males. Malik smiled and winced as though she’d really hurt him, and Alia rolled her eyes.

“Jummah Mubarak, Malik, how’s school and where have you been hiding?” Alia asked, and Malik grinned and mumbled something about being busy. The two of them stood there, exchanging pleasantries. Malik looked past Alia, and she followed his gaze, seeing that brothers and sisters were walking into the gym, ready for Jummah prayer. Alia bit her lip. Nothing ventured means nothing gained, the young woman thought, and she took a deep breath before doing the unthinkable.

“I’ve got your number, my sister, I’ll be in touch,” Malik said with a smile, as he punched Alia’s number into his iPhone. The young woman looked at him expectantly, and although he was gushing inside, wanting to jump up and down, Malik played it cool. Got to reel her in otherwise nothing will happen, Malik reminded değişik porno himself, as a doe-eyed Alia continued to gawk at him, a faint smile on her lovely face.

“You make sure you do that, Malik, or I will kick your butt,” Alia said with a grin, and Malik smiled and held his hands up in mock surrender. The two of them stepped into the gym-turned-prayer hall, and Malik went to the brothers space at the front, while Alia went to the sisters space at the back. The young woman was all smiles as she sat down at the back of the sisters space, and awaited the preacher’s sermon.

That’s how it all began. The next day, Alia received a text from Malik, and met with him at Oliver’s Pub. While initially reluctant to meet with Malik at a bar, a place that served alcohol, one of several on the Carleton University campus, her worries turned out to be unfounded. The place served delicious food and had several TV sets showing sporting events and even movies. It was not just a place that served alcohol.

“This is my first time in a bar,” Alia giggled as she and Malik sat a corner of the bar, seated at a table for two. Alia inhaled the scent of the beef and cheese sandwich and fries on her plate. Malik smiled at her and nodded while sipping on his Pepsi. Clad in a Black silk shirt, blue silk pants and Black Timberland shoes, the Zulu brother looked fresh and handsome.

“Glad you came, my beautiful friend,” Malik said, smiling and sounding corny, and in spite of that, or perhaps because of it, Alia’s heart skipped a beat. She looked at her handsome, well, date, for lack of a better word, and then gazed at her surroundings. The place was decent, and not at all what she expected. Students of all hues mingled, talked, dined, and laughed. Onscreen, the Ottawa RedBlacks professional football team were getting trounced by the Calgary Stampeders, but nobody really cared.

“I’m glad I came too, Malik, so, tell me about your life in South Africa, and that gal in the picture,” Alia said, matter-of-factly, and she flashed Malik a smile a fox would recognize. The young South African student suddenly looked uncomfortable, even though he tried to hide it behind his charming smile. Wriggle like a worm at the end of a hook, Alia thought slyly.

“Alright, I see you’ve been going through my Facebook profile, Alia, okay, the gal’s name is Amrita Sharma and we dated during my first year at University of Johannesburg, we really liked each other but her parents didn’t like seeing her with a Black man,” Malik said, and he looked away. Alia looked at him, and gently brushed her hand against his. When Malik’s eyes met Alia’s, she saw that there was a look of almost elemental pain in his.

“Malik, I am so sorry, racism is such a terrible thing,” Alia said, not knowing what else to say. Malik looked at her, smiled and shrugged. He looked like he was about to say something else, but a trio of students coming into Oliver’s Pub seemingly caught his attention. A tall, bearded Indian male student walked in, holding hands with a tall, dreadlocked young Black woman. Accompanying them was a chubby, red-haired White male. The trio stared at Alia and Malik, and did not look pleased.

“Alia, do you know this guy?” Malik asked, nodding in the direction of the Indian guy as he and his friends went to sit at the stools closest to the bar. Alia shook her head, and Malik smiled, then shook his head as well. Alia looked at him, wondering what he was thinking. Malik acted like nothing in the world bothered him, but clearly getting him to talk about his ex was causing him some pain. I must be more patient and tactful, Alia thought grimly.

“Let’s get out of here,” Alia said, and when Malik hesitated, she clucked tongue impatiently. The brother smiled, and looked her up and down. Malik blinked in surprise as Alia linked her arm with his, and then led him out of the bar. Just like that, the two of them went for a walk around the sunlit campus of Carleton University, which looked beautiful in early September.

“Thanks for bringing me here, the view is so nice,” Malik said, smiling at Alia. The two of them sat a bench by the water, near the campus administration building. They were a two-minute walk from the gym and the ice house. Alia looked at the pristine waters of the canal, which reminded her of the Krishna River in the City of Sangli, Western India. The City of Ottawa definitely had its charms, Alia must admit.

“You looked like you needed some fresh air,” Alia replied, and she looked thoughtfully at Malik. Whatever happened between him and Amrita must have been quite rough, Alia surmised. She was no expert on romance, having had only a few sensual experiences ( mostly kissing and heavy petting, nothing serious ) prior to moving to Ontario, Canada, from Maharashtra, India. Still, she felt drawn to Malik, and it both excited and scared her…

“Alia, my dear friend, I have a nasty habit of falling for the wrong women and they bring me nothing but pain, I seriously wish the Most High would send me someone decent,” Malik said wistfully, and he grabbed a stone and tossed it into the river. Alia looked at Malik, and sighed deeply. Don’t touch him, and don’t do anything you might regret later, Alia silently told herself, as she pondered what to do.

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